


Try and Try Again

by silbecoo



Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: F/M, Time Loop AU, Time Travel AU, halloween kastle gift exchange
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-31
Updated: 2016-11-11
Packaged: 2018-08-28 02:31:47
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 18,544
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8427820
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silbecoo/pseuds/silbecoo
Summary: The night after the Punisher's funeral Karen is approached by a strange woman and given the opportunity to change the past and give Frank Castle back his future.





	1. Chapter 1

Once upon a time, Fall was Karen’s favorite time of year. She loved the crisp air, peacoats, the feel of a hot cup of coffee in her cold hands, relished the sensation of steam wafting up to her nose as she took a grateful sip. Fall had once meant tree-lined streets in the suburbs flaming with golden orange foliage, her neighbors breaking out halloween decorations that were more adorable than spooky, waving to kids in masks walking unafraid through the streets and knocking on doors to ask for candy.

As an adult though, seasons seemed to pass without notice, one slowly blending into the next. But even when life became a whirlwind of passing dates and changing weather, fall remained the one spot of warm nostalgia in an otherwise unnoteworthy calendar.

It would never be the same after this. Death hung in the air as it whipped around her skirt, damp and unrelenting against the backs of her legs, the night sky a black and yawning void. 

A funeral held on halloween was some kind of sick joke. The scene was too macabre, too on the fucking nose, too windy and cold to stand by the graveside, her hair sticking to her wet cheeks, the cold seeping through her many layers and wrapping around her heart.

The headstone was plain, his name emotionless square letters carved into the granite, his life stretching across the bottom, nothing more than a hastily carved dash between year dates. She felt a fresh wave of grief crash over her, looking at the row of headstones. Maria all the way to the left, Frank Jr. and Lisa tucked in between their parents.

She had waited to come here, waited for the sun to set and the roiling crowd of protesters and punisher fans to disperse. The cops had blocked off the iron gates, letting people in one at a time. Karen watched it all from a distance, clinging to the cold iron as the cemetery workers lowered Frank’s plain pine box into the ground, the gravediggers leaning on their shovels and watching disinterestedly. The plot had been bought and paid for years before, a practicality of marriage, a plan to spend eternity together. If only eternity had waited just a little.

Karen’s legs wobbled, the grief unraveling inside of her. She fell to her knees in freshly turned earth, reaching forward to touch his name. It burned against her fingertips, glowing in the light of the moon. A racking sob tumbled from between her lips, and she collapsed, lying on the ground like a marionette with its strings cut.

Time slowed, her heart thudding weakly in her chest as she tried to catch her breath. It was so quiet in the cemetery, the sound of the city in the distance completely muted by a dark line of trees. The sound of her own gasps were sharp against the silence, and she felt foolish lying in the dirt.

“Karen, wake up…. Karen…”

She sat up, her head jerking over her shoulder toward the sound of her name. A dark figure loomed over the grave, silhouetted by the moon. The figure’s shoulders were slight and hunched, creeping closer.

Karen scrambled to her feet, brushing the dirt off her clothes. The figure turned slightly, gazing up at the night sky. She was an older woman, soft lines at the corners of her eyes, a kind expression on her face. Turning back to Karen, she said, “It’s such a beautiful night, clear sky, big moon… but this is no place to take a nap, Karen.”

Karen frowned, suspicion and fear sending a cascade of goosebumps across her body at the sound of the soft voice. “I wasn’t sleeping.” She frowned, a line of confusion appearing between her eyebrows. “How do you know my name?”

The woman smiled, shrugging. “I know lots of things dear.” She nodded toward the fresh grave site. “I know you love the man in the ground here.”

Karen reached up to brush away the drying tears, her throat feeling tight again. “That doesn’t exactly take a psychic to figure out.”

Again, the woman shrugged, this time reaching forward to touch Karen’s hand. “I know that this whole thing could have been prevented… that it still can.”

Karen’s brow furrowed, confusion sweeping across her face. “I don’t under--”

“His death.” The words were clipped, the other woman’s tone shifting from soft and understanding, to fierce. “He didn’t have to die.” She pointed angrily at the grave. “This didn’t have to happen, and _you_ can still change it.”

The older woman’s fingers were digging into Karen’s arm now, pulling her close. The aroma of incense and something strangely familiar but unplaceable wafted up to Karen’s nose. Her vision blurred, softly glowing at the periphery. She shook her head, blinking away the strange sensation.

Karen felt something cool in her palm, a coin being pressed into the soft flesh. Her fist closed around it, and the woman’s grip on her arm released. 

“Go home, dear. Place this under your pillow, and think. Think _very_ hard about a time when this man’s fate could have been altered.”

Karen felt herself being pulled into the insanity, the desperation of wanting Frank back clawing at her. “What if it doesn’t work?”

“Then do it again. Make it work. You have to.”

* * *

Karen’s fingers shook as she placed the coin against her smooth sheets. It winked in the light of her bedside lamp, the strange symbols embossed on it as indecipherable as before. The metal was still warm, gold absorbing her body heat and keeping it far longer than it should have.

Dropping the pillow over it, she crawled into bed, glancing at Frank’s dog tags on her nightstand one last time before flicking off the light.

Immediately she thought of the night he died. Both of them in her apartment, burning the midnight oil and shuffling through stacks of paper. There was something they had missed, some connection between Fisk and a string of murders that could bring down the kingpin for good.

Karen began to drift, a falling sensation in her limbs, then floating. She was on the very edge of sleep, indelible memories playing out behind her eyelids.

There had been a jump drive on the last assassin Frank had taken out, the little piece of plastic dangling from a bloody keychain when he’d knocked on her door. All of the documents were encrypted, utterly unreadable using her dinky laptop. So they’d just settled in for the night, going back over the things that had led them to the man in the first place.

It was useless, and Karen had broken out a bottle of wine for herself and ordered chinese takeout for the both of them. She could smell the ginger chicken and the soy sauce splashed over rice.

She opened her eyes and there he was, staring back at her from across her coffee table like the past two weeks hadn’t even happened. They were sitting on the floor, food and paper scattered over the table between them. A bruise on his left cheekbone drew her eye, the result of a tussle with a purse snatcher only hours before, and he was smiling down into his box of noodles. Her heart jumped into her throat, eyes as wide as saucers. 

He looked up, expectantly. There was a question hanging in the air between them, about the food maybe, and he was waiting for her to answer. She opened her mouth, but nothing came out.

He frowned. “Page, are you alright?”

She didn’t know what the rules were here. Could she tell him she was from the future? That he was going to die if he went out prowling tonight? Would that send her flying back into the present, back to her tear soaked pillow and the deep wound in her chest? She couldn’t risk that.

She cleared her throat, making every effort possible to remember the tone of that night, to remember what he’d said about the food. She smiled, the expression not quite reaching her eyes. “I’ll let Madame Wu know you think her noodles would be better al dente. I’m sure she cares what some guy who lived off MRE’s for two years thinks about her food.”

He arched one eyebrow at her, reaching for the bottle of wine. “It wasn’t _just_ MRE’s.”

Karen let out a little sigh of relief, watching him fill both of their glasses. This was right, the feeling of warmth between them, the soft light from the lamps in her apartment.

She sipped the wine, letting it linger on her tongue before swallowing. She remembered everything now. The way the wine settled in the pit of her stomach before the alcohol worked its way through her body, making her limbs loose and a little too free. The tingle of warmth that spread out across Frank’s cheeks as he sipped from his glass.

She cocked her head to the side, looking at him curiously. She decided to flip the script in her memory. That was the whole point right? “I think this is the first time I’ve ever seen you drink anything other than coffee.”

He glanced at her, the flush on his face migrating to the tops of his ears. “I suppose it is.” He swirled the glass, watching as the ruby liquid briefly clung to the edges before pooling back in the bottom. “Not usually a fan of things that make me less alert.”

She downed the rest of her glass, pouring another and taking a drink before looking back at him. “Sometimes… I think I like it a little too much. It makes me feel like I can do things… things that I normally wouldn’t.”

Again, this earned her a raised eyebrow. It was almost infuriating the way he held onto everything so tightly, barely letting any reaction register on his face. The sound of him clearing his throat was the only crack in his stoic façade. “Like what?”

Getting up, Karen uncrossed her legs and stretched to her full height. The wine wasn’t enough really, not to make her do and say what she needed to. But the sight of him laying in the morgue, pale as ash, eyes closed forever, his dogtags as cold as ice clutched between her numb fingers, that pushed her to the point she needed to get to, courage filling her from the tips of her toes to the top of her head.

She rounded the table, but didn’t go to him immediately, stopping to drop the needle onto an old jazz record. The player and records were the only thing she had left of her brother. He was a vinyl enthusiast, and no on in her family had known what to do with his collection. She used to listen to them on gray rainy days, days when she felt lonely. The records had been damn near worn out after...

Soft notes floated out into the air, the magically deft fingers of someone dancing along the unseen keys of a piano, the deep and warm echoe of a sax bouncing against her walls. She turned, surprised to find that he’d already risen to his feet, eyes full of questions.

“Things like…” She trailed off, losing her train of thought. The way he was looking at her, it wasn’t like any time before. There was hunger there, a need that made her mouth go dry. She suppressed a little shiver, finishing her comment. “....dancing.” Her eyes drifted shut. Slow music, the kind of melody that begged for someone to hold you close and sway.

The touch of his hands on her hips sent a frisson of desire mingled with relief zipping through her. Tears too close to the surface, she wrapped her arms around his neck, hiding in the hollow of his shoulder. Maybe she could get him to stay, at least for the night. Stay away from that dark rooftop and his certain death. 

His squeezed her gently, rocking in time to the music, his breath hot against her ear. “Karen? What’s wrong?”

Shit. she was crying again, hot tears splashing against his skin. She pulled back for a moment, scanning his features. There was concern in the depths of his dark eyes, and more than a little confusion. But under it all, there was something else, something warm like the embers of a fire, and it echoed in her.

Her lips crashed against his, wet tears sliding against his stubble as she devoured him. For a moment, he didn’t respond, clearly surprised by her advance, but as soon as his brain processed what was happening, he immediately became the aggressor. 

He pulled her in close, hips bumping against hers, hands roaming across her body until they found purchase on her backside. He hefted her up, pushing her skirt up so she could wrap her legs around him.

Pinning her against the wall, his lips pressed hot kisses into the soft flesh of her neck. His hands slipped under her blouse, skimming her rib cage before palming her breast. She let out a low moan. 

Incoherent and desperate to keep him, she held tight, her nails digging into his shoulders. “Frank, stay, please stay.”

He responded by pulling her away from the wall and carrying her toward the bed. “I’m not going anywhere, ma’am.”

She let out a sigh of happiness, cool air floating around her as her clothes fell to the floor. Everything was perfect, he was safe, he was here.

When the world began to pull apart, she let it, watching as her apartment faded to black and the feeling of Frank inside of her became a distant memory. 

She let it all go.

* * *

_Karen… wake up._

Her eyes flew open. It was dark, and she was alone. The glowing clock on her nightstand said three a.m. Instinctively, she reached for Frank’s dog tags, fumbling in the dark. For a brief moment she was hopeful, thinking that she wouldn’t find them, but her fingertips brushed the cold metal and all hope fled.

She flicked her lamp on, grief crushing her from the inside out as she looked down at the bloodstained chain. She held it to her chest and sobbed, grief racking her until she thought she was going to be sick. What a stupid superstitious girl she was.

She reached under the pillow and snatched the coin, throwing it as hard as she could across her apartment. It dented the soft dry wall and landed with a hollow thunk on the hardwood floor. Karen sank down into her bed and cried herself to sleep.


	2. Chapter 2

Mornings were the hardest. The floors in her apartment were always cold, the air just a bit too frosty coming from her drafty windows. Whatever will she might have had to creep out from beneath her warm blankets and face the day, was sapped by a suffocating feeling of hopelessness. 

And the dream… dear God, that dream had made things so much worse, filling her with thoughts of what could have been. Why had she always been so tentative, so slow moving when it came to him? She’d been afraid. There was something inside of her that called out to him, something dark and more than a little terrifying. It was only now that she was beginning to realize that she needed that part of herself to survive.

But Frank was gone, and there wasn’t anything some lunatic in a cemetery on Halloween could do to change that. Karen’s cheeks burned with embarrassment at the thought. How stupid was she? For Christ’s sake, it was probably just some cruel joke. Her passionate defense of the punisher had raised quite a few eyebrows at The Bulletin. Maybe it was one of the overly competitive pricks who worked there, some reporter who couldn’t handle Ellison running her stories so frequently. 

The thought made her angry enough to throw off the blankets, ignoring the painful chill. She threw on her clothes and headed for the door. She had to get out of this place. It was too full of him. His things were still scattered around the apartment, after-images of him sitting on her couch burned into the inside of her skull.

* * *

The park was quiet, and even though the air was still bitingly cold, the sky was clear, and soft sunshine was falling through the trees, a dappled pattern painting the sidewalk. She picked an empty bench, clutching her coffee without taking a sip.

She was tired, and the sunshine on her face had a drowsing effect. Like a cat lounging in a pool of warmth, she closed her eyes. It was nice to listen to the wind shuffling the leaves off the trees, to the children playing in the distance. Life went on. There was proof in the constantly vital hum of her city. She was in sore need of a reminder.

“Karen…” Someone touched her shoulder, pushing at it gently. “Wake up dear… wake up.”

Reflexively she answered, “I’m not asl--.” Her eyes snapped open. There on the bench beside her was the woman from the cemetery.

In daylight, the woman’s wrinkles were more prominent, light blue eyes peering at Karen curiously. Her hair was hidden under a knit cap, a few snow white locks escaping in the light breeze. She reminded Karen of her mother, a fair complexion with pink cheeks. The woman carried herself rather regally, her slender and delicate form sitting up straight against the backrest. She sighed, shaking her head at Karen sadly. “I can’t believe you’ve already given up.”

Karen frowned, anger simmering just below the surface. “Who the hell are you?”

The woman rolled her eyes. The gesture was strangely familiar. It sent a tingle of unease chasing along Karen’s spine. “That is... not important.”

“Please, just leave me alone. I don’t know why you would play such a cruel joke, but I’m not falling for it--”

“I’m so disappointed in you.”

Karen’s eyes widened in disbelief. “What? You don’t even know me.”

The woman pursed her lips, fighting the urge to lash out at Karen, jaw clenching as she searched for a diplomatic way to express herself. “I know you as well as I know myself.” She huffed out the statement, pushing back her irritation to deliver the real message. “You didn’t go back far enough. You have to change the path he’s on, _really_ change it.” The woman shook her head. “Asking him to stay… it was well intended, but he was too far gone by that point.”

Karen stood up, mouth shut tight, fighting the urge to scream and cry at the same time. If this deranged woman wouldn’t leave her alone, then she was going to do something about it. There was a cop standing at the end of the path, hands tucked in his pockets, quietly surveying the nearly empty park.

The woman yelled after Karen’s retreating form, “If you love him, you’ll try again!”

She scurried over to him, hands shaking as she brushed the hair away from her face. “Officer, could you please do something about that woman harassing me? I’ve told her to leave multiple times. I think she may be unhinged.”

The officer looked over her shoulder, frowning. “What woman, ma’am?”

Karen spun on her heel, pointing vehemently in the direction of the bench. “ _That_ woman. The one in the knit cap. She…” Her words faded away. There wasn’t anyone there, not even a trace of her former companion. “Sh-she’s gone?”

This shaky question earned Karen a rather concerned look from the policeman. “Ma’am, are you alright?”

His body language said it all, the way one hand was hovering at her side, the other resting at the ready against his hip. He thought she was unstable, some dangerous madwoman who saw things no one else did and yelled at empty benches.

Karen took a deep breath, collecting herself. She smiled at the officer, her most saccharine and charming secretarial smile. “Oh, goodness. She must have seen you and left.” She nodded, belatedly realizing that agreeing with herself didn’t make her look any less insane. “Thanks for your help.”

She spun on her heel, walking with her head down all the way back to her apartment.

* * *

Karen always brushed her hair before bed, stroking the long locks lovingly until they crackled with static electricity. The repetitive motion was calming, almost hypnotic, and she needed something to distract her from the unease in her chest, the strange desire to turn to an absurdly desperate solution for her misery.

It didn’t work, her mind continued to bound back to the coin. She knew exactly where it was, had seen it peeking out from under the edge of her recliner when she’d gotten home that afternoon. It had winked at her accusingly, and she'd sent it flying under the chair with a little kick from her suede boot.

She moved to her bed, flinging the covers back. She couldn’t do it. She couldn’t crawl between the sheets knowing there was even the faintest possibility she was giving up the chance to save Frank. The mysterious woman had said to go back further? How much further? What could she even say? Go back too far and Frank wouldn’t even know who she was. She wanted to scream.

Letting out a long sigh, she moved toward her recliner, pushing the thing back until she could retrieve the coin. It was warm between her fingertips, strangely so. It was a little spooky the way the thing seemed to be impervious to the chilly air along the floorboards.

She shoved it under the pillow, this time defiantly, daring the magical object to do it’s fucking job. She closed her eyes, instantly transporting herself back to one of the worst nights of her life. It was damp and cold and there was a gash on her forehead that burned like the dickens in the night air. 

When she opened her eyes there it was, the haunted looking cabin tucked in between overgrown trees. She looked up at Frank, waiting for him to break her heart and disappear into the cabin. She knew what came next, which words were perched on her vocal chords, ready to be screamed out into the night. No, god damn it. _That_ tactic hadn't worked. And in any case, she couldn’t bear to scream, “You’re dead to me!” Not now… not ever again.

Instead she just stared, her bottom lip trembling with rage and sadness as he disappeared. The gunshot rang out just like she knew it would, muffled by the oak door between them. She didn’t turn her back this time, moving up the path and pressing her palms against the rough hewn door. 

Schoonover’s body was just inside. Her stomach soured at the sight of his blood pooling in a sticky puddle by her toes. She clenched her jaw. The bastard deserved it, and Frank could have done so much worse. It wasn’t hard for Karen to compartmentalize this part of him, the way she compartmentalized this part of herself. She knew what it was like, to want revenge in your very bones. Her brother’s death had taught her that, and she wasn’t sure she wouldn’t do the same thing if she ever found the assholes that had so callously ended his life. 

She tore her eyes away from the dead body, gazing around her in surprise. It was a damned arsenal in here, rows of guns and ammo and explosives lining the walls and shelves. No wonder Frank had started his bloody mission to rid New York of it’s scum. He’d had ample opportunity and plenty of supplies after finding this place. Even she wasn't immune to the shiver of strange anticipation at the sight of it all.

His back was to her, standing so still that she knew he’d heard her come in. She waited for him to acknowledge her presence. It didn’t take long. 

“Why are you still here?” His voice was hoarse with emotion, like he was close to snapping, shattering. It was strange. Her memory of this night was different. All she’d seen was the mask of indifference dropping down over his face, the callous and cold-blooded deadly intent in his eyes as he’d closed the door. This time he looked... broken.

“Frank?”

His eyes darted up, catching hers. He was surprised to hear his name, to hear how softly she said it, the empathy and care in her voice. She watched his adam’s apple bob, his emotions slipping back down his throat before he could let them out. 

At this point in their relationship, the first time around, she would have been afraid of him, a quiet voice in the back of her mind wondering if maybe Matt and Foggy were right. But now she had the benefit of really knowing him, of seeing the man beneath all the sadness and anger. He could smile and laugh. His heart was still beating, and she knew Frank Castle was more than just the punisher. “Frank, I know what you’re thinking.”

He laughed, so bitter it made her want to cry. “Oh, do you, ma’am? What’s that?”

Unafraid, she approached him, one hand resting gently on his sternum. He flinched at the contact, and she felt the beat of his heart skitter, quickening beneath her touch. “I know you want to take all of this stuff… and just kill every sorry son of a bitch in New York City…”

He took a step forward, crowding her. It was an attempt at intimidation, moving into her space. “That’s exactly what I’m gonna do.” His words were menacing, but there was something not quite right about them, like he was waiting for any reason at all to take them back.

She shook her head. “No, Frank.”

“Pardon me, ma’am, but what the fuck do you think you’re gonna do about it?”

She looked up at him, tears welling in her eyes. “Don’t do this. You’ll die here, in this ungrateful city. No one will thank you for any of this shit. You need to leave, Frank. There are scumbags that deserve to die everywhere.”

One eyebrow shot up. He backed away, looking at her strangely. “What are you…” He trailed off, clearly trying to process what she was saying.

Full of desperation, she lunged forward, digging her fingers into his biceps. “You have to leave. You don’t understand. You. Will. Die. Here.”

“I can’t leave.”

Screaming in frustration, she let go of him, panic rising through her chest. She could feel the world spinning, the edges fading to gray. She was running out of time. 

She kicked at one of the shelves, yelping in pain as her shin caught a piece of metal sticking out. It scraped the skin, leaving an angry gash down the length of her leg. “Fuck!”

He was kneeling beside her in an instant, fingers gently probing her injury. His touch was feather light, and she began to cry. “F-frank, please… I’ll come with you. You can… you can teach me. We--”

He cut her off, eyes fiery. “You need to get away from me, far away.” He hauled her up, one hand rough under her arm as he moved toward the door. “Don’t ruin your god-damned life.”

She was alone in the woods again, blackness swirling around her, leaves getting stuck in her hair. Everything was falling apart and she couldn’t hold onto it, no matter how much she clawed at the air. Finally her eyes closed, and she lost consciousness.

* * *

“WAKE UP, GOD DAMN IT!”

Karen jerked awake, the sound of someone’s angry voice echoing in her ears. She was alone, a cursory glance around her apartment assured her of that. She knew before she even turned on the lamp that the bloodstained dog-tags were still there, still laying on top of her favorite book, still gut wrenching proof that nothing in her dream had altered reality one bit.

She kicked at the covers, feeling sick enough to scramble to her bathroom. She barely made it to the toilet before emptying the contents of her stomach. It had been a horrible dream, an exercise in futility. 

She leaned back against the wall, head bumping the tile with a quiet thunk. She stretched her legs out, thinking maybe she would just curl up in the floor for the rest of the night, not bother dragging her exhausted body back into the other room.

She blinked slowly, eyebrows drawing together in confusion. There was a mark on her skin, a half faded scar running from just above her ankle almost to her knee. She drew her thumb along it. It couldn’t…. 

Her stomach flipped again, unfortunately there was nothing left to come up, the dry heaving painful as she tried to process what she was seeing. It was impossible. The injury in the cabin had been in her dream, not in real life. 

Jumping to her feet she ran out of the bathroom, snatching her phone from his charging cradle. She was shaking now, fear twisting through her uncontrollably as she tried to dial the number. She was going insane, she needed a voice of reason, someone to walk her through the insanity.

It rang once, then twice… on the third ring she got an answer, sighing in relief at the sound of the voice on the other end of the line.

“Oh, thank God, Claire. C-could you please come over?”


	3. Chapter 3

A voice of reason. That’s all Karen wanted, someone to tell her she was crazy with grief, that she didn’t just travel back in time… twice. 

Claire’s hands were gentle, fingers skimming along the mark on Karen’s leg. “It looks fine to me, just some discoloration from a recently healed abrasion. It’s fading, almost gone actually. You probably won’t even have a scar.” 

Karen shook her head. “It wasn’t there yesterday, at all. Nothing.” 

“Karen… this is…” Claire trailed off, trying to find a diplomatic way to disagree. “Your skin is so fair. If this is from a cut, it had to have been a while ago.” She rose from her knees, moving to take a seat beside her friend on the couch. Pulling a pen-light out, she tested Karen’s pupil response. It was fine, even with the frantic looks coming from the blue eyes. “Have you been sleeping, since…?” She trailed off, not wanting to say his name, to reopen the wound. 

Karen’s bottom lip trembled. “That’s what I’m trying to tell you. When I sleep, I dream, but it’s real, Claire. I know it sounds crazy, but I feel like I’m actually traveling back in time, and I wake up feeling like I never went to sleep at all.” 

“Karen… I don’t know what to say. Of course I don’t believe in stuff like this, but…” Claire trailed off, biting her bottom lip. “The unexplainable happens in the world around us all the time. In the past year I’ve met not one, but two people who are borderline indestructible, superhuman even, I know a blind man who can ‘see’ better than most sighted people, who races across rooftops like a kid on a jungle gym, and… even a man who could control minds…” Claire reached forward and picked up the coin in question, tracing the lines of the strange symbols. “This isn't like anything I’ve ever seen before, not that I've studied ancient languages.” 

Karen watched Claire turn the coin over and over between her fingers, staring down intently at the markings. There was a faraway expression on the nurse’s face, some kind of hypnotic force enthralling her. 

Suddenly Claire blinked, her fingers going lax. The coin bounced and clattered against the polished surface of the coffee table. 

She looked up at Karen wide-eyed. “I, uh…. I could see them, my mother and father. Dancing in the kitchen on my tenth birthday.” Her voice wavered somewhat, and she closed her eyes again, this time concentrating on what she'd just experienced. “My mother's fiery red dress, I could feel it against my fingertips as she twirled by. And I could hear the music, feel it vibrating in my chest. It’s like … I was almost there again.” 

Karen shivered. This wasn't what she had in mind. “What does it mean?” 

Claire opened and closed her mouth, struggling to find an explanation. “It's the last memory I have of my father… he died the next day. I think about it a lot.” She cleared her throat, trying to reign in her awe. “Maybe… we just want these moments so badly that our minds make really vivid daydreams …” Eyeing the coming, she sighed. “Shit, I have no idea Karen. Maybe it is a kind of time travel. My mother would be the first person to tell me to keep an open mind about these things.” 

Karen shook her head and laughed, feeling a little hysterical. “I would almost rather you tell me I’m losing my mind.” 

Claire patted her gently on the back, a soft expression of empathy on her face. She reached up and brushed her thumb under Karen’s eye, tracing the dark circles. “You do seem kind of… exhausted. Maybe you’re delirious?” 

Karen nodded, wanting desperately to believe it was the case. “I am so damn tired.” 

In truth, it wasn’t the exhaustion that was killing her. Feeling like she was so close to Frank and yet being so far away. Feeling that he was here, waiting on the other side of the veil, and no matter what she did she couldn’t pull him back to her side… It made her want to scream in frustration. 

“I miss him.” Her voice broke. Squeezing her eyes shut, she buried her face in her hands. 

They sat in silence for a moment, Claire tracing soothing circles on Karen’s back. It was hard to see her friend like this. Karen Page was one of the strongest people she knew, eyes always blazing with righteous indignation when anyone tried to silence her, fighting her own battles and protecting others from injustice. Fragility wasn’t something Claire saw often in Karen. The death of a loved one, especially someone who had your heart all tangled up in unresolved feelings... It was a difficult, to say the least. 

Claire’s hand slipped down into her scrubs pocket, fishing out an orange and white bottle. “I shouldn’t, but… ” She shook two white tablets into the palm of her hand, offering them to Karen. “When you're ready to rest, take this. It’s a sedative. You clearly need some sleep. Don’t drink any alcohol with it though.” She looked down at the coin one last time. “And maybe you should get rid of that thing.” 

* * *

Karen drifted, letting the fog of the valium surround her. The sounds of her apartment faded away until the only thing she could concentrate on was the steady drip of her faucet. It was like a metronome, timing out her breaths. 

Slowly the apartment darkened around her. She lay in a daze on her couch as the clock ticked by the seconds, waiting for the sun to settle back down below the horizon. The room filled with an orange glow, west facing windows like fiery rectangles flaming bright then dying down into the soft purple hue of nighttime. And still, she lay there, eyes shut against everything. 

Something light touched her forehead, a cool finger brushing the hair back from her eyes. “Sweetheart, please wake up. I need you here with me.” 

The voice was pained, desperate sounding even. Her eyes flew open. There she was, the woman from the cemetery and the park. Now she was standing in the middle of Karen’s apartment, eyes full of sadness. Karen didn’t have the energy to try and figure out just how the woman had managed to get in. Instead she rolled away from the touch, begging the woman, “Please go away. Leave me alone, I don’t want this.” 

The woman grabbed her, slim fingers digging into Karen’s wrist. “Listen to me. I _need_ you to fix this. You’re the only one. That’s how this works.” 

She hauled Karen up off the couch, pulling her toward the bed. Karen jerked out of the woman’s grip. “What is wrong with you? None of this is real. Time travel isn’t possible. _Frank is dead!_ ” 

The woman’s eyes were wild, filled to the brim with unshed tears. There was a hysteria there, something Karen was all too familiar there. “ _Who_ are you, lady? Why do you care so much about Frank Castle?” 

The woman gasped, words fighting past tears. “I told you, who I am doesn’t matter.” She snatched up the coin, marching over to Karen’s bed and shoving it under the pillow. “You’re trying, and I appreciate that, but you need to go back further. There’s a point where all of this can be fixed. There has to be. Just. Go. Back.” 

The valium was still in Karen’s bloodstream, its effects suddenly doubled. Her limbs felt weighted, eyelids drooping. She lay down, smoothing the sheets beneath her fingers. What could it hurt, to dream a dream? None of this was real. Karen was beginning to think the woman herself was some kind of hallucination. Better to play nice with a figment of her own imagination. “Fine. Just… tell me when. Tell me where to go and we can stop with this nonsense.” 

The woman sat down on the edge of the bed, head in her hands, narrow shoulders shaking as she cried. “I can’t tell you. I don’t even really know. I just…” She trailed off, looking up at Karen through red-rimmed eyes. “You have to be the one to figure it out.” 

Karen didn’t respond, consciousness fading even as the woman spoke. When she closed her eyes he filled her mind, his eyes half hidden under a black baseball cap, a little smirk pulling up at the corner of his mouth. 

* * *

She could feel the smile on her face before she looked up, a genuinely happy feeling inside of her crashing into her like a wave. She had forgotten about that feeling, forgotten about the love song playing softly in the background dampened by clinking cutlery. Her cheeks were warm, and an unexpected fluttering in her chest. It was so strange, circumstances being what they were, that she had been able to break free from all the horror even for a moment. 

She looked up, catching his smile again, this time half hidden behind a coffee mug. The lighting in the diner was warm and yellow. Vinyl seats and chrome edged furniture catching the soft glow and throwing it back up at them. 

He was about to start talking about Matt. She groaned internally. That was a dead-end conversation if there ever was one. Although… she wondered if Frank had known about Matt at this point, had known that the sanctimonious lawyer liked to play dress-up and go give bad guys concussions. 

The look of thoughtful amusement must have shown on her face, because he raised an eyebrow. “What’s that about?” 

Her eyes widened, caught. “What?” 

“That ‘I know something you don’t know’ look.” 

She laughed, sipping her coffee. The coffee was rich and black, just like she remembered. “I like you.” 

He grinned, hiding it behind his mug. “You have questionable taste in acquaintances.” 

Her heart felt full, seeing the faint flush creeping up his neck. She had no idea he’d even been receptive to this, that his heart had been open so early on. She felt a breathless hope in her chest. Feeling somewhat giddy, she laughed. “That’s never been more true than right now.” 

He had the gall to feign indignation, sitting up just a little straighter. “I think I rate a little higher than fucking Grotto. You gotta give me that.” He said, amusement belying the content of his words. 

She took a sip of her coffee, hoping he couldn’t see the way she was blushing. Oh, she missed this. The gentle teasing, the undercurrent of something electric arcing between them. “I suppose I do.” 

She tapped her nails on the tabletop, unsure of what she was supposed to do. A part of her wanted to slip over to his side of the booth, to lean in close and inhale the scent of soap and coffee, to trace the purple bruises on his face with her lips. To hold on and never let go… _never let go_. A little shiver went through her, his own now unspoken words echoing through her mind. 

She could still remember the way he felt in the first dream, his hair so much longer then, her fingers slipping through the curls. 

He glanced out the window, eyeing the cars along the street, a noticeable tension in the set of his jaw. Her heart sank. How could she have forgotten even for a moment… All the warmth drained out of her. 

Frank saw the smile disappear from her face. “Are you alright, ma’am?” 

“I'm fine.” She answered him tersely, draining her cup and setting it down heavily on the table. The seemingly clairvoyant waitress approached their booth, full pot of coffee at the ready. 

Karen waited, watching the waitress fill their mugs. Frank followed Karen’s slightly altered script, giving her a somewhat probing look before he turned his attention to the other woman. “Ma’am, can I ask, do you always serve bullshit here, or is it just her?” 

Her heart thumped. It really was him, sitting across from her, trying to get her to be honest. Suddenly she felt sick, throat closing in grief. God, she couldn’t face losing him again. 

Karen looked down in her mug, trying to fight off the desperation that permeated her body. She felt like doing something reckless, like blurting out the truth and lunging across the table to beg him to leave the diner, immediately. 

The waitress eyed them both awkwardly, a departure from the last time this all happened. The woman was clearly uncomfortable with Frank’s little joke, or more specifically Karen’s reaction to it, and she left as quickly as possible. Frank frowned after her, turning to look at Karen. 

There were tears in her eyes, nostrils flaring with anger. She couldn't take any of this anymore. The palm of her hand slammed down on the table with a loud bang. “Goddamn it, Frank!” 

Coffee mug abandoned, his mouth dropped open, confusion at her abrupt shift in tone making him mute. Awkwardly he reached for her shaking fingers, hesitating just a moment before tugging her hand across the table. “Hey, listen… I’m… sorry?” 

It was question, like he had no idea what the fuck was really going on, what he'd done to shatter the tentative camaraderie. His touch was warm against hers, the little calluses tickling the back of her hand. Her heart clenched, remembering the feel of those hands against her skin, holding her gently in the middle of the night. He had no idea what he was doing to her sanity. 

Something snapped in her. “I know everything Frank. Every god-damned thing. I know that in less than ten minutes, men with guns are going to barge into this place, looking to kill us. I know you’re going to push me away, that this friendly act of yours is just…” She stopped short, letting out a bitter laugh. “Well, that I don’t know actually… I have no idea if you’re just using me as bait or--” 

He interrupted her, eyebrows shooting up in surprise. “Bait? Ma’am, listen, it’s not like--” 

“Cut the shit, Frank. None of it matters anyway.” The volume of her voice raised, earnest desperation pouring out of her in a deluge. “You have a chance here. A new beginning waits outside that door if we go now. No one else has to die. _You don’t have to leave me_.” 

He shook his head, the shutters dropping back down. Gone was the man who flirted with her over a cup of steaming coffee. His gaze was steely, cold as it bore into her. “You have no idea what you’re talking about.” 

The tears started to fall, held in check until this very moment. She’d fucked up again. This wasn’t the right time. “God damn it Frank. You’re not going to find out anything. You’ll never know why, or who.” Her hands were shaking, sobs shuddering through her. Angrily she scooted out of the booth. Looking down at him one last time, she said, “This doesn’t work, Frank. You’re just going to die on a fucking rooftop in the middle of the night, and I’ll have to come identify your body. Because there is no one else, no one else left to mourn you. _Just. Me._ ” 

She turned away, barely hearing the faint sound of the door tinkling as she pushed out into the night. A familiar car drifted by, making a u-turn in the middle of the street. She was already gone, heels clicking against the pavement as she walked away from the diner. The sound of gunfire was the last thing she heard, and soon everything was black. Nothing left for her here. She closed her eyes and waited to wake up. 

* * *

It was dark, not even her glowing alarm clock there to comfort her. It lay in the floor, shattered like she'd knocked it there angrily in her sleep, Frank’s bloody dog-tags a few inches away. 

This time she was mad, punching the pillow angrily before throwing it against the wall. It was no fucking use. The man was as stubborn as a mule, so intent on his anger that nothing else existed. 

Why was this her responsibility? Why couldn't the grief stricken woman visit someone else? Karen felt like her mind was coming apart, that reality was losing its opacity, everything getting a little too insubstantial. What was the point of this world if she could go back and change things, give herself more scars and heartache? 

_Wake up._

It was a whisper in the air, like a ghost trying to talk from the other side of the wall. She shivered, cold fear creeping up her spine. 

She couldn't go back to sleep. Instead, she dragged herself up and slipped on her boots, hiding her flower print pajamas under a black trench coat. She needed someone to talk some sense into her, and maybe pour a stiff drink down her throat. She let the door slam behind her, headed to _Josie’s_ in search of Foggy.


	4. Chapter 4

Karen ordered a whiskey sour and told him about everything. The visit to the cemetery, the strange woman, the coin, all of her dreams. And he listened, quietly thumbing the label off his beer bottle while she rattled off the events of the past week. When he looked up, his eyes were full of worry, a sad expression in their soft depths. Foggy cared about her, that much was apparent. 

“Karen, I obviously don’t believe in any of this supernatural stuff.” He shifted uncomfortably on the barstool, biting his bottom lip before hurrying on. “But… have you ever heard of Occam’s razor?” 

She sighed. Of course she’d heard of it. Lawyers loved to pull out the tried and true problem-solving principle, especially when their opponent’s theories were a twisted mess. “You don’t think I’ve thought about that? Of course time travel isn't the simplest explanation. I just...” 

Foggy shook his head, thoughtfully sipping at his drink. “No, it’s not that ‘the simplest explanation is usually the right one.’ It’s more like if you have competing hypotheses, the one with the fewest assumptions should be selected.” 

“And?” 

“Well, one could argue that there are just as many assumptions in both theories. We have to assume that you’re hallucinating this strange woman, that there was a mark on your leg that you had either blocked out before or never noticed. We have to assume you found this coin and pocketed it then had no memory of it…” 

She shook her head, smiling at Foggy’s attempt to make her feel better. “Or we can just narrow it down to one assumption: I’m losing it.” 

Karen looked across the bar, feeling the need to escape Foggy’s sympathetic tone for a moment. She could see their reflection in the mirror behind the bar. She looked like a lunatic, her hair all mussed, purple smudges of exhaustion under her eyes almost like bruises. Hell, she was wearing her pajamas at a bar just as the clock was about to strike midnight. The reflection in front of them wavered, her vision blurry. Her pajamas looked like a hospital gown for half a second. She blinked slowly, focusing on the tiny blue flowers on a field of white. Why did it seem so hard to hold the images in place? 

Foggy continued, catching her eye in the mirror. “And maybe if those were just dreams, you had them for a reason. Your subconscious is trying to work something out.” 

She nodded. She didn’t know if it was his words, or the cheap whiskey making it’s way through her veins, but suddenly she felt a little better. “I suppose…” 

Foggy put down his empty bottle, waving the bartender over to order another. “So… what has all of this time travel accomplished?” 

Karen sighed, looking down into the bottom of her glass. There was a smudge of unknown origin beneath the last drops of her drink. She wrinkled her nose, shoving the glass away. “Nothing at all. I go… back… and try to convince him to stop this insane mission, and then I wake up and everything is exactly the same. He’s still dead, and I still feel… broken.” 

“Maybe you just have the wrong approach.” 

“What do you mean?” 

“Don’t try to change the way he is, no one can do that. He’s always gonna be--” 

Instantly her hackles rose, recalling very similar conversations they’d had in the past. “He’s not a monster, Foggy--” 

He interrupted her. “That’s not what I meant. I meant… Fisk is the problem right? Castle’s vendetta against him is what got him killed. Those two wouldn’t have ever met if…” 

“... if Frank had never been arrested.” She lay her head down on the bar, fighting off hopelessness. “I don't think…” She shook her head. “No, I can only go back to points in my own past...” 

Foggy shook his head. “There has to be a reason for all of this, even if it's all in your head.” He let out a long puff of air, looking deflated. “Shit… Sorry, Kar, I’m not really much help here.” 

* * *

Foggy walked her home, stopping just at door to give her one last hug. It was warm and caring, and she nearly broke down sobbing because of it. How was he such a good friend? “Thank you.” 

He pulled back. “Do you want me to stay? I’m gonna be pulling an all-nighter anyway with these case files, might as well do it on your uncomfortable love-seat.” He patted his brief case, flashing a half-hearted smile at her. “I can wake you up if you start thrashing.” 

She shook her head, a small smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. It didn't reach her eyes. “I’ll be fine.” 

He hesitated, loathe to leave her in such a state. “You sure? I can grab a case of Red Bull and we can both stay up all night.” 

She leaned forward, pressing a friendly kiss against his cheek. “I'm fine, I promise. Talking helped.” 

Nodding, he gave her one last hug. “Call me in the morning.” She could tell he was biting his tongue, keeping his worry under wraps for her own sake. She appreciated it. 

He left, the locks on her door clicking audibly behind him. She didn’t go straight to her bed, instead heading for her little kitchen nook. There was a bottle of Jameson hidden in the top cabinet, camouflaged by an empty cereal box. She didn’t even know who she was hiding it from, but the habit was ingrained, a part of her still feeling somewhat pathetic drinking alone. 

Tipping the bottle, she poured the amber liquid into a coffee mug, watching it splash and swirl against the porcelain. Claire had said no alcohol, but that had been hours ago. She needed something to settle her shaking hands, to wash the foul taste of stale mixer out her mouth. She made a mental note never to order anything that wasn't factory sealed at _Josie’s_ ever again, and moved to sit on the edge of her bed. 

The .308 was in the night stand drawer, loaded, one in the chamber. Frank had chided her on more than one occasion. It was a dangerous way to keep a gun, and she knew not to do it, but it gave her the illusion of safety if not the reality. 

Downing the last of her mug, she turned and slipped the gun out of it’s hiding place. The weight of it was familiar, metal cool against her palm. Could she take objects with her into the memories, tote a gun into the past? She had one destination in mind, a time when it was still possible to save him from Fisk at least. 

If the cryptic woman wanted her to go back even further, she would. Foggy’s advice was sound, and he didn't even know it. She regretted what she was about to put her friend through, the terror that he would no doubt feel, but she didn't really see any other choice. 

She lay down, right hand stretched out on the bed, fingers lovingly caressing the firearm. She could feel the coin beneath the thick cotton of her pillow, like the princess and the pea, a hard lump that was keeping her from sleeping peacefully. The tableau she created was a worrisome sight to say the least. Foggy would have lost his mind if he’d seen her preparing for bed like this. She closed her eyes, trying with all her might to recall the sharp antiseptic smell of the hospital. 

* * *

She felt it before she opened her eyes, the weightlessness in her right hand. The gun was gone. Dammit! Her heart pounded fearfully, eyes squeezed shut. What the hell was she supposed to do now? Her idiotic planned hinged on having a weapon to press into Frank’s hand. She held her breath, waiting for the world to solidify around her. 

“You stay.” 

The sound of his voice made her pounding heart trip. Her eyes flew open, the familiar cast of greenish light from the hospital’s fluorescent fixtures filling her vision. She wanted to scream. This was exactly where she wanted to be, but without the gun there was absolutely nothing she could do here. Cops were stationed out in the hall, hundreds of people filling the rooms of the hospital like bees in a honeycomb. It was hopeless. She spun around to look at Frank, handcuffed to a hospital bed, ribs busted up, giant purple bruises covering his face. She’d forgotten how vulnerable he’d looked. 

“... please.” 

Heart in her throat she approached the bed. She wanted to reach out and take his hand, to lean down low and press her cheek to his. It would have been a very strange thing for her to do. To him, they were practically strangers staring across the room at one another. Her vision swam with unshed tears. This felt like a sick joke. 

Frank looked at her, watching in confusion as expressions of grief and fear flickered across her features. He shifted against the scratchy pillow cases, looking away briefly before croaking out, “You were never in any danger.” 

She knew that, even the first time around she’d known that. Nodding, she turned away from the bed, reaching for her purse. There had to be something in it, something she could use to enact her plan. 

Her fingers brushed along a stray bobby pin lying in the bottom of the bag and she withdrew it, closing her eyes briefly to try and recall something from long ago. Her brother had once jokingly showed her how to unlock a pair of magician’s cuffs with a bobby pin, bending the thin metal tip precisely until it could be stuck into the keyhole. She could still hear the sound of the mechanism clicking and the cuff sliding open as he'd laughed at her shocked awe. 

Turning back to the bed, she found Frank studying her intently, waiting for some kind of response, waiting to tell her that he would never hurt someone innocent. “I know that, Frank. I really do.” 

He eyed her suspiciously, the corner of his mouth twitching with the faintest hint of amusement. “Oh you do, do you? You don't strike me as the psychic type, ma'am.” 

It surprised her how much the polite moniker hurt. It had taken her so long to break him of the habit, to finally hear her name spoken in the same soft tone. Blinking away pesky tears, she said, “I know you were after Grotto, and I know you disarmed a guard instead of hurting him. _I know, Frank._ ” She put the bobby-pin between her teeth, peeling off the plastic coated tip. “You don't hurt people unless they deserve it..” 

Frank watched as she straightened the thing out, measuring it with her fingernail and making a couple precise bends at each end. “What the hell are you doing?” 

He tensed when she approached the bed, trying to sit up a little straighter. She felt a sharp pang in her chest at the distrust in his eyes, a hurtful reminder that he didn’t really know her, not yet. “I’m getting you the hell out of here.” 

“What do you want from me?” 

She paused her movements, head snapping up to look at him. The question had caught her off guard, so full of suspicion, so cold. “What?” 

“You helping me... What's in it for you?” 

“Nothing, I just…” She trailed off. What could she say. _Nothing, I just care about you, and desperately need you to survive. I think I might love you._ Christ, if she said any of that Frank would probably hit the nurse’s call button and she’d be the one chained to a hospital bed. “It's not right, what they did to your family, and you… you're the only one doing anything about it.” 

Her voice trembled, a recollection of grief flooding her. She could remember the way he'd described the last day with his family, that last gruesome images of his little girl in his hands, the soul rending pain of waking up and finding them all gone… forever. She had nearly left the room, overwhelmed to the point of tears. She prayed he wouldn't continue to pry into her motives. 

Blessed silence, his intense stare burning through her. She took it as acquiescence and shoved the pin into the keyhole, brow furrowing as she maneuvered it around. She could feel the mechanism, so close to giving way…. 

His hand on her wrist, firm but gentle, stopped her in her tracks. “Excuse me, ma’am, but you need to stop, right now.” 

Frustration boiled over. She let go of the cuff and gripped the bed’s railing instead. “God damn it. I have a plan.” 

“You don’t need to do this. I can take my lumps. It’s time to face the music.” 

“Oh puh-lease, cut the shit, Frank.” She snatched the handcuff again and was rewarded with an almost instantaneous click. The cuff fell away. She looked up at him. “You want to hear another stupid cliché? How about, the deck is stacked against you, huh? There’s no way those ‘lumps’ won’t end up killing you. They _want you dead_ , and you’re just going to let them have what they want?” 

She was already working on the other cuff, a renewed sense of purpose, when Frank grabbed her again, this time a little roughly. He pulled her close, giving her his most menacing look. “Aren’t you scared? I’m a murderer.” 

Scoffing, she jerked free from his grasp and unlocked the second cuff. “I’m not afraid of you. I have no reason to be.” Ignoring the look of confusion on his face, she began unfastening the straps holding him down. 

The rails came down and he swung his legs out, bare feet slapping against the cold tile. He eyed her warily. “So, what's this plan of yours?” 

Relief flooded her body, kicking her into action. She immediately turned to rifle through the supply cabinets against the wall, triumphantly spinning around with a clean pairs of scrubs clutched to her chest. “Put these on.” 

He obeyed silently, slipping the pants on under his hospital gown. The top gave him some problems, and she watched from the corner of her eye as he struggled to get his arm up high enough. Frank’s injuries were more severe than she remembered, his constant stoicism making her forget. She stopped searching through drawers to go to him. “Here, let me help.” 

Before he could protest, her hands were on him, gently supporting his arm as he threaded it through the sleeve, pulling the top down over his head. Unable to resist, she flattened her palms down over his chest under the pretense of smoothing away the wrinkles. He was alive, heart fluttering beneath the thin fabric, bruised skin a hair’s breadth away from her touch. Time was unreal, and it felt like it had been years since she’d been this close, the sound of his breath echoing in her ears. She pulled away, bringing herself back to the task at hand. “Dammit, I don't know what they did with your shoes. You'll have to go barefoot.” 

“It's not the worst thing that's happened to me today.” 

He smiled, one corner of his mouth ticking up. For the first time since this insanity had begun, Karen felt hope rising in her chest. This was really going to work. “Now we just have to find a weapon so you can hold me hostage.” 

His eyes widened, but he said nothing, turning to help her ransack the room. They settled on a sharp piece of metal torn from the underside of the bed. 

Her heart raced, anticipatory adrenaline crashing over her in waves. “Um, you have to… hit me or something, make it look like you overpowered me.” 

He was appalled, face collapsing into a deep frown. “I'm not doing that.” 

She grunted in frustration. “Fine, I'll just… say that you tricked me or something, look like the typical damsel in distress everyone thinks I am.” 

He laughed again. “It's hard to believe anyone thinks that.” 

“You'd be surprised, not everyone knows me--” She bit off her words. She'd almost said _like you_. Quickly she shifted gears. “--that well.” 

He nodded. “You ready?” 

She let out a shaky breath. “Yeah, let’s go.” 

Turning her back to him, she waited. He came up behind her and grabbed her, one arm banded around her waist and the sharp object pressed against her throat. 

Foggy was the first person they encountered in the hall, shock and horror flitting across his face as he processed what he was seeing. Karen prayed he wouldn't do anything stupidly heroic. 

Frank’s voice, echoed down the hall. “Make a move and I'll slit her throat!” 

Their destination was the emergency exit at the end of the corridor. Everything began to get fuzzy halfway there, lights turning into little starbursts, the antiseptic smell in the air fading away. Her vision went black around the edges, and she knew her time was up. 

* * *

_Karen, it’s time to wake up._

Her eyes flew open. Mid-afternoon sunlight streamed in through her windows, golden against her tangled sheets. Her fingers twitched, feeling for the gun she'd gone to sleep with. It was gone. 

Instantly she turned toward the nightstand, eyes searching for a pair of bloody dog tags. They were gone too, nothing but a Saint Francis medal winking in the late morning sunlight, right next to her alarm clock. Her perfectly intact alarm clock… 

She sat up, jerking the drawer open. It was empty except for a sleep-mask and a bottle of aspirin. 

Immediately she went to her closet, digging out the lock box she used to keep her gun in. There it was, tucked carefully away, unloaded and unused. She put it back, turning to inspect the rest of her apartment. 

Everything was slightly different, furniture arranged at unfamiliar angles, pictures in the wall hanging in a different order. Her eyes darted to the wall by her bed. The patches of plastered drywall were gone, no trace of bullet holes. 

Heart in her throat, she dashed over to the kitchen counter, pulling out her coffee cannister. It was empty, not even a grain of Frank’s dark roast left lying in the bottom. 

That was it then. Her plan had worked. Frank had walked her out of the hospital, and taken off into the night, safe from the likes of Fisk. 

She was heartbroken, but also relieved. He was alive, and out there somewhere, doing whatever it was that gave him peace. She could live with that. 

A buzzing noise interrupted her dazed thoughts. Her phone jiggled on the nightstand. Matt was calling her. She smiled to herself. Some things hadn't changed, it seemed. 

“Hello?” 

“Karen, I'm glad you picked up. I wanted to be the first to tell you.” 

She frowned, trepidation curling her toes. “Tell me what?” 

“You don't have to be afraid anymore. He's gone.” 

“Who’s gone, Matt?” She already knew the answer. It felt like a hot poker stabbing her through the stomach, gutting her completely. 

“Frank Castle. They found his body this morning.” 

She dropped the phone to the floor, collapsing in a heap against her rug sobbing, eyes shut tight against the bright sunlight. 

A gentle shushing, drew her back from the edge, soft fingers carding through her hair. “Oh, honey. I'm so sorry. It was a really good try that time. I don't know how you thought of it.” 

Karen didn't even open her eyes, just letting the sympathy wash over her. Eventually she pleaded, rather brokenly, “Please tell me who you are.” 

The woman drew Karen’s head in her lap. “Karen, you know who I am. You’ve known all along.”


	5. Chapter 5

Karen turned in the woman’s gentle embrace, reaching up to brush her fingers along the snowy white hairline. She fully expected to feel a scar along the woman’s paper thin skin, but it was smooth. 

The woman shook her head. “No dear. Remember, the night in the woods never happened. The scar on our leg is gone too.” 

Karen jerked away from the woman, scooting backward until she was pinned against the love seat, an incredulous look on her face. “What are you talking about?” 

Rather than answer the question, the woman rose to her feet, weariness settling in her shoulders and making her look wilted. She moved toward Karen’s bed, fingers skimming the top of the night stand before turning to look over the whole apartment. “There really is no trace of him here now. It's almost…” She shook her head, pushing the thought away. “I had forgotten how small this place was.” 

Karen followed her cautiously, studying the older woman. She looked even older than the last time. Her hair had gone from snowy white lustrous waves to a washed out and fragile looking spun cotton, wrapped up in a knot at the base of her neck. And her skin, it didn't look as soft as before, it seemed almost translucent now, the rose in her cheeks fading to a soft seashell pink. But it was the woman’s eyes that showed the most change. The once bright blue was cloudy with age, a certain resignation now lingering in their depths. Karen swallowed, goosebumps rising in her arms. “How…” 

The woman focused on one of Karen’s framed photographs. It was a shaky out-of-focus shot taken by the pool table at _Josie’s_. Karen was in the middle, cheeks rosy and eyes glassy, flanked on either side by Foggy and Matt. A happy memory that hadn't changed one bit. 

The woman sighed. “I miss Foggy. It's been years since he passed. I wouldn't wish it any other way though. His life was so incredibly full of happiness, right up until the very end.” She chuckled softly. “His grandchildren thought I was their great aunt. They hugged me so tightly at his funeral, little lips trembling, eyes full of unshed tears because he told them not to cry.” 

Karen’s breath stilled, holding tight in her chest. It wasn't possible… and yet. The woman was familiar. The way she held herself, the slope of her shoulders, the curve of her bottom lip. Even the sound of her voice was like listening to an old friend. 

“... and Matt.” The tip of the woman’s finger lingered on Matt’s laughing face, tracing the line of his jaw. “He just stood at the back of the church, silently listening to the eulogy, to the happy stories. I tried so many times to mend their friendship, but Matt kept pushing everyone away until he ended up all alone… and after Foggy’s funeral he just… disappeared.” 

Karen reached forward, gently encircling the woman’s wrist with her fingers and drawing her away from the picture. The woman wore a silk blouse, and the floral perfume wafting up to Karen’s nose all but confirmed her suspicions. She pushed up the sleeve, tracing her thumb along the woman’s powdered skin. There was a thin scar, a match for the one on her own forearm, faded to a nearly invisible line. “Last day of third grade, Jimmy Vaughan pushed me off the monkey bars and I had to get six stitches.” 

Her older self nodded. “We carry a lot of scars, Karen. But the one that has been the hardest to bear is one you can still prevent.” 

She shook her head dejectedly. “I’ve tried everything. It just… doesn’t work. He’s too…” She struggled to find the right word to describe Frank’s dogged persistence when it came to following his mission. “... intent.” 

Her older self opened her mouth to argue, but was interrupted by a sharp tattoo on Karen’s front door. “Karen, I hear you in there. Is everything okay?” 

Matt’s voice rang out in her apartment, and she felt stuck. She wanted him to go away, wanted to continue talking… to herself? Good lord she really was insane. She turned to plead with the older woman, but was met with thin air. Her apartment was empty. 

* * *

“No, Matt you don’t understand.” 

“You’re right. I don’t. There’s no such thing as time travel.” 

She shook her head in frustration, a bitter little laugh tumbling out from between her lips. God, this was how it always was with him, everything so black and white. She grabbed him. “For once just _listen_ to me Matt. I know you can hear better than anyone else in the world, but for fuck’s sake you don’t ever _listen_.” 

He recoiled at her tone, mouth snapping shut, nostrils flaring. Finally it seemed she had his attention. 

“I went back, and I helped him escape, the whole thing was my idea, and it’s not the first or even the last time I hopped through time to do so.” 

He shook his head. “You sound… God damn it. Are you having a psychotic break? I know you feel guilty about your part in his escape, but that’s a far cry from ‘helping’ Karen. And besides, he’s dead now, so it doesn’t even matter.” 

She wanted to scream in frustration. “No Matt. I unlocked his cuffs. I told him what to do. It was my idea.” 

He got quiet, turning away from her to, a look of deep concentration on his face. She hated when he did that, listened to her heartbeat, her breathing, to see if she was telling the truth. It felt like an invasion of privacy. She fought the urge to grit her teeth. 

“Karen, are you sure you’re not just… upset? Maybe you’ve convinced yourself of this insane story because you feel guilty. If not for that escape, he would be locked up safe, perhaps getting the mental help that he needed --” 

He was trying so hard, tracing thoughtful circles on the coffee table with his index finger. He couldn’t accept that she’d been on the other side of the line all along. She tamped down her frustration, infusing her words with a firmness. “No, Matt. It isn’t some kind of misplaced guilt.” 

“Okay… fine. But I still don’t see what that has to do with anything. He’s dead. It’s over and there’s nothing either of us can do about it.” 

“That’s the point, Matt. I _can_ do something about it. I just can’t figure out at what point things really started to unravel.” 

“Believe me, Karen. I’m not as cold-hearted when it come to Frank Castle as you think.” He spoke softly, still focusing his attention on the little circles. She could feel his sympathy. “I think I could have helped him, used the insanity defense.” He dropped his head down into his hands. “I tried to talk to him, but… nothing I said broke through.” 

Karen watched him, a ghost of a sad smile flickering across her face. No wonder Matt thought all of this insanity was motivated by guilt. He seemed to still be carrying his fair share. Karen reached for his hand, pulling it between her own. Matt had elegant hands, graceful long fingers and manicured nails. She remembered staring at those hands, her own face suffused with a heat, her schoolgirl crush ebbing and flowing inside of her like waves crashing along the coast. If she wanted, she could toss the coin into the East River and go back to Matt, back to soft kisses in the rain and elegant dinners for two. Back to normalcy. At least, whatever kind of normalcy someone like her could have. The thought didn’t make her happy, sadness welling up inside of her unexpectedly, her throat tight with emotion. 

Matt turned to her, still steeped in his own guilt. “I wasn’t very understanding. God knows how that single day destroyed his entire life, without mercy or hesitation. But it’s not like we can go back and change that.” 

This was the Matt she knew, the one who had once made her feel soft and warm inside, like a puddle of melted sunshine. He’d become something different lately, but it was nice to see the Matt she had loved was still in there. She scooted closer to him on the loveseat, laying her head on his shoulder. There really was no going back to what they could have had once. Both of them had changed far too much. 

They sat in silence, listening to the ticking clock, the sound of each other’s breathing. “I’ve missed you, Matt.” 

He turned to her, his mouth half open. “Karen, I’m worried about you. Maybe we should call Claire, let her give you a once-over.” 

She shook her head, all the fight gone out of her. “That’s not necessary. I am glad you came by though. I’ve been too selfish about all of this, trying so hard to find a way to keep him and save his life at the same time.” 

“What?” 

“I need you to leave.” 

“Karen, wake up. This is insanity.” 

She got up, reaching down to pull Matt along with her. She guided him to the door. Kissing him on the cheek she said goodbye. 

Suddenly everything was clear, she’d made mistake after mistake trying to go back and change Frank’s motivations, his thought process. Matt had made a fair point. All of this _had_ started with a single earth shattering day. And that was where she had to go. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was sort of a transitional one, sorry if it was a bit boring. More time travel in chapter 6 I promise :P


	6. Chapter 6

Karen’s apartment looked like a tornado had hit it, papers lying everywhere, drawers dumped out onto her bed. She’d even emptied out her waste baskets frantically searching for something that told her where she had been the day Frank’s family had died. 

After sifting through old emails had been a bust ( just like the halfheartedly kept journals and planners jammed willy nilly into her bookcase) she’d immediately decided to take a fine tooth comb to her apartment. Hair mussed, she stood amongst the debris surveying the wreckage of her life. There just _had_ to be something. 

She closed her eyes, trying like hell to remember. All she could get were flashes of the office she’d worked in back then. Dull brown carpeting, cheap cubicles dividing the cramped workspace. It wasn’t enough. Back then her days had all ran together, more of the same. Get up in the morning, put on a boring outfit, trudge to work, sit at a desk for eight hours, go home, rinse, repeat. It was depressing bullshit, and she was grateful to have found a way out of it. But God, how she wished she could remember something. Some moment while watching the news, something... 

She started cleaning up, hope faltering in her chest. There had to be something she was missing. A panicky heat began to creep up her neck, making her feel flushed and desperate. She dashed into the bathroom, tugging open the few drawers she had. There was nothing but a scattered collection of makeup and lotions. She tossed all of it in the floor angrily, panting, close to hyperventilating. Gripping the edge of her sink painfully, she stared at herself in the mirror, whispering angrily. “Think, Page, think.” 

Surprisingly, it worked, and in a moment of clarity she reached up moved the mirror aside, revealing an almost bare medicine cabinet. There it was. An empty prescription bottle, dusty on the inside with antibiotic residue. Dated the day before the massacre in the park. She snatched up the bottle, a sob of relief shuddering through her. She could remember standing in line at the pharmacy, the cranky mom standing behind her complaining about the wait, a man sneezing uncontrollably into his disgusting handkerchief. She could even recall the way the gap-toothed pharmacist had looked right through her while giving her a usage consultation. 

She never imagined that she would one day be happy about a runny nose and a sinus headache. Smiling, she practically ran over to her bed, pulling the coin from beneath the pillow. 

It glowed in the palm of her hand, sending a frightened shiver through her. Her heart beat frantically. She had to figure out a way to get from the pharmacy to Frank’s house before the magic began to make everything dissolve. Holding the coin to her chest, she lay down, eyes squeezing shut. 

* * *

The smell was the first thing she noticed. A strange combination of hard candy and antiseptic filled her nostrils seconds before her eyes opened. It was exactly as she remembered it, the tiny family-owned pharmacy two blocks up from her apartment, shiny white tiles and rows of over the counter medication boxes gleaming in the harsh lighting. 

The second thing she noticed was the pounding headache. She felt like shit, pressure in her sinuses pushing painfully against the backs of her eyes, lips chapped from the requisite mouth breathing that came along with a stuffy nose. And there was a strange wooziness in her limbs, no doubt the side effect of recently ingested cold medicine. 

Someone loudly cleared their throat behind her, and Karen turned to see. A middle aged woman gave her a withering look, scrunching up her nose to point toward the counter. The pharmacist was looking at her expectantly, eyebrows creeping up his shiny forehead. 

“Miss?” 

It seemed like she was next in line. Karen snapped out of whatever fugue she was in, turning away from the counter and dashing out the door. The pharmacist and other patrons called out after her, but she barely even heard them, the sound of her own heartbeat rushing in her ears. 

Out in the street it was a bright day, but there was still a chilly snap in the air. Karen shivered, wondering idly if maybe she’d had a fever too. She ran down the sidewalk, swinging her arm out, trying valiantly to hail a cab. They all zoomed right past her, and she couldn’t figure out why… until she caught her reflection in a storefront window. She looked like she was on the brink of death. Her hair was lanky and plastered to her skin, big dark circles under her eyes, clammy sheen of sweat across her face. And to top it all off she looked like she’d gotten dressed in the dark, a black trench coat cinched at the waist over a set of bright pink pajamas, the bottoms of which were tucked into a pair of old rainboots. 

She wanted to laugh, to scream, to cry. She tamped down the hysteria, throwing her arm up once again, this time putting two fingers to her mouth to whistle with all her might. Why the hell not? It worked in the movies didn’t it? 

Much to her relief, a bright yellow cab slowed and pulled up to the curb. She jumped in, rattling off Frank’s address from memory. She prayed he was home, not letting herself think about what it would be like to see Maria, to hear the kids playing. She couldn’t go there, couldn’t face such direct consequences of failing in her mission. 

She told the cabbie to stop a block from his house, spilling out of the cab and throwing a handful of twenties at him through the window. She had no idea what the fuck she was going to say to Frank, only that it had to be convincing. 

The Castles’ lawn was pristine, like someone had just mown it, little bushes along the white fence trimmed into neat rectangles. The house looked different from when she visited the first time. It shone white with fresh paint, windows sparkling like they'd just been washed, and there was Frank, standing on the walkway, looking up at his home. 

Karen’s breath caught in her chest at the sight of him. His hair was short, but not like the crew cut she was used to, nor was it long and unruly like she’d seen when he’d been on the run. The military cut he favored had grown out somewhat, revealing a slight curl in the dark locks. This was civilian Frank, dressed in a loose fitting t-shirt and worn out jeans. His back was to her, and it appeared as though he’d frozen in mid stride, a handful of envelopes in one hand, the other hanging limply by his side, trigger finger twitching. 

There was a little pain in her chest at the familiar sight. She recalled him talking about this time in his life, the way he’d felt lost even though he was supposed to feel relief at being home again. The mental and emotional exhaustion, the distance he felt from the people he loved the most. Her heart was breaking for him all over again. 

The door at the top of the steps began to open, and Karen ducked behind a tree along the fence line. A sweet feminine voice carried through the air, “Frank, you coming in?” 

Karen’s curiosity got the better of her, forcing her to peek out from behind the tree. She saw a petite woman with honey blonde hair and a bouncy stride come down the steps. Frank didn’t answer his wife, feet still glued to the walkway, fingers still twitching. Maria walked up to him slowly, a look of concern spreading across her face. “Frank? Is… everything okay?” 

He cleared his throat, tucking his empty hand into his back pocket. “Yeah, no, I’m fine.” He leaned down to drop a gentle kiss on her lips, fluidly moving around her and back toward the house. “We need to get some herbicide for the weeds growing in the cracks of the sidewalk.” 

Maria hooked on tiny hand in the crook of his arm, stopping him in his tracks. “Enough with the bullshit about lawn maintenance, Frank.” He turned to look at her, and she put her hands on her hips for emphasis. Maria Castle may have been a small woman, but she was formidable as hell when she wanted to be. “Tell me what’s going on, Frank. I’m your _wife_. There’s nothing you need to hide from me. For better or worse, remember?” 

Karen expected him to clam up, to stalk into the house without another word. It’s what the Frank she knew would have done had anyone else confronted him about his emotions. But instead, his shoulders dropped, and he turned to look at his wife, for the first time giving Karen a clear view of his face. “I’m sorry. I just… This doesn’t feel real. It’s like one of the dreams I used to have. Being home with you and the kids, doing chores.” He reached up to touch her face, drawing a gentle line along her cheek. “Touching you…” 

”And? What’s the problem? Everyone wants their dreams to come true don’t they?” 

”I feel like… I don't belong here anymore. What's my place here? Am I th3 gardener? The chauffeur?” Pain slashed across his face, darkening his eyes for a moment. “You guys don’t need me. Everything was fine while I was away. The bills were paid, the house was taken care of, the kids… they shouldn't be around someone who’s done the things I've done.” 

Maria shook her head, voice trembling. “The kids love you, Frank, and everything was _not_ fine while you were away. They missed you so much. _I_ missed you.” She hugged him fiercely, standing up on her toes to reach her arms up around his neck. “We need you here.” 

Frank returned the embrace, relief showing in the lines of his posture, his eyes drifting closed. It was almost too much for Karen to watch, her heart squeezing painfully in her chest. If there was ever any question in her mind that this was where and when she needed to change things, it was being firmly answered. 

Frank cleared his throat again, this time pulling away from his wife. “I know I’ve been… distant. I know the kids can feel it.” His voice was tinged with guilt, even as Maria shook her head in denial. “Let’s do something as a family tomorrow, just the four of us. Let’s go to the park.” 

Karen had to clamp a hand over her mouth to keep from screaming out no and scaring the shit out of Maria Castle. Instead, she waited for the two of them to walk back up to the house, arms intertwined, chatting softly to one another. She had to go about this tactfully, or she would end up in handcuffs and held for involuntary psychiatric observation. 

First things first, she had to figure out a way to not look like she was dying from the plague. She swept her hair back into a ponytail, smoothing down the flyaways and tucking them behind her ears. There was a tissue in her pocket so she used it to mop up the clamminess along her brow, frowning at the way the thing fell apart in her hands. At least the sky was beginning to cloud over, and she didn’t look like a total lunatic for wearing rain boots. 

Hands tucked into her pockets she turned to make her way up to the house, keenly aware of her spiking fever. She felt so cold, fighting the urge to shiver. 

“What are you doing?”

The familiar voice stopped Karen cold, a soft hand lighting on her shoulder. Slowly she turned to look into her own cloudy blue eyes, watching as tears splashing over white eyelashes and down onto her older self’s cheeks. She knew her heart was breaking, could feel each little thread of connection she had with Frank snapping the closer she got to the front door. She swallowed, ignoring the grief staring her in the face. “I’m saving him.” 

“I never thought of this… or maybe I just didn't want to…” 

Karen nodded, “We were blinded, selfish even. This is the only way.” 

The older woman dissolved into tears, shoulders shaking. Karen felt strange, watching herself like this, through the veil of space and time. Everything the older woman felt was echoed in her chest. After a few moments, she reached out and took the woman’s hand in hers. “We’ll do it together.” 

The doorbell rang a pleasant little chime, and the two of them waited. Karen prayed that her vocal chords would work, that her voice wouldn't get caught in the space between her tongue and teeth. The door swung open, a sunny faced little boy standing on the other side. 

Her heart nearly stopped. She’d seen pictures of Frank Jr., knew that he had Frank’s eyes, the set of his jaw. But this was different, the quivering life in the excitable child, the light in his dark eyes. It floored Karen how much he looked like Frank, and she wanted so badly to reach down and gather him up in a protective embrace. 

Before she could say anything, Frank came up behind the child, shooing him back into the house and calling back over his shoulder. “Francis, I told you not to answer the door.” 

She’d never seen Frank like this. He looked so different, comparatively well-rested, no bruises, freshly shaven. Cautious curiosity and concern were painted across his face as he looked back and forth between the two women. “Ma’am… ma'am… can I help you?” 

Karen blinked, trying to catch hold of the plan she’d been formulating while walking up to the house. It was suddenly very hard to concentrate, her vision wavering out of focus. “Sir, uh… we work for the city, and um…. There have been reports of anthrax being found in central park. Could be a hoax of course, but until the testing is complete, it’s probably safe to just stay close to home for the next few days… especially if you have kids.” 

_Shit._ Was that the best she could come up with? He wasn’t going to buy it this nonsense. She waited for his response, watching as he narrowed his eyes. 

“Anthrax? You two going door to door with this? Seems a little… inefficient.” 

The older woman shrugged, trying to look confident. “We don’t… um.. .want any unnecessary panic.” Did that sound like a question? Dear lord, how were they failing this spectacularly? She could already see Frank dismissing them as a pair of lunatics, possibly scam artists even. He was going to close the door and then make a quick call to the cops. Her façade crumbled almost immediately. “Frank, listen to me. I know you want to go to the park with your kids tomorrow, but it isn’t safe. I swear. I need you to trust me, please.” 

He frowned, stepping out on the porch with her and shutting the door behind him. He crowded her against the railing, anger seeping from his pores. “Who sent you?” 

A shiver of fear zipped through Karen. She racked her brain trying to think of someone she could attach herself to. She’d researched Frank thoroughly when he was a wanted man, but the names zipping in and out of her head weren’t sticking, and her fever was making everything just the tiniest bit hazy. 

Her older self took charge, placing a soft hand against Frank’s forearm. 

“David sent us, Frank.” 

Frank’s eyebrows shot up, and since she wasn’t laying on the ground in a puddle of her own blood, she supposed she had picked the right name. 

“Micro?” 

The name was foreign to Karen, but she supposed in the years after Frank’s death she's had ample time to investigate his known and unknown associates. Instinctively, she nodded, eyes wide as she tried to impress upon Frank the seriousness of the situation. “The park isn’t safe, especially not for you and your kids. Stay away.” 

Frank backed away from the two of them, frowning. The porch railing felt strange under Karen’s hand, like the needling sensation she got when her foot fell asleep, only external. And the slats beneath her boots felt soft, almost like she was walking on the beach. The world around her was starting to come apart. Before Frank could reply or argue with her, she grabbed her older self’s hand and they both ran down the steps. 

The air began to twitch around her, the sky looking staticky like an old television displaying scrambled channels before it all shattered and fell apart around her. There was a painful rending sensation followed by the disappearance of her companion, blackness enveloping everything before she lost consciousness. The last thing she heard was Frank yelling for her to stop.


	7. Chapter 7

Karen woke up with a nearly blinding headache, wondering idly if she’d gotten drunk the night before and somehow forgotten about it. Thankfully, the apartment was quiet, not unusual this time in the morning, early rays of sunshine peeking through her curtains, her alarm beeping softly. 

Her brain was foggy, gray images swimming behind her eyelids, wafting away like smoke before she could catch them and pull them back into focus. She tried in vain to reach for them, but they slipped through her fingers, disappearing like they’d never been there at all. 

There was a hollowness in her chest, a strange echoing when she took a deep breath, like something had been removed and no one had the foresight to replace it. She chalked it up to a fitful night’s sleep, and crawled out of the bed, filling her coffee pot and switching it on. She must have had an awful nightmare. She should probably be grateful she had no memory of it. 

She shrugged off the strange feeling, moving on with her day, with her life. As odd everything seemed, she also felt a little lighter, some dreadful heaviness disappearing in the dark of night. She resolved not to eat sweets at so late an hour, and shuffled toward her bathroom, intent on a long hot shower. 

* * *

A month passed and the hollowness refused to leave her, even though sometimes she forgot about it. It would catch her off guard in the middle of the night, especially when things were quiet… when she felt lonely. She contemplated seeing someone about it. She waffled between worrying she had some kind of heart defect and thinking she was just lonely. On the worst days she told herself she would see someone about it, if not a heart specialist then maybe a psychiatrist. There was no reason for her to be feeling so… empty. 

Not today though. Today she had things to do, errands to run before it was too late. Christmas lights twinkled along the periphery of her vision, red and green and white starbursts reflecting off storefront windows. The temperature was dropping fast, heavy moisture hanging in the air. A blizzard was coming, snow predicted to blanket the entire city in a matter of hours. She sighed, being trapped in her apartment for a couple days, the strange quiet of New York coming to a standstill, didn’t seem like such a bad thing. 

That’s why she was pushing past frazzled looking moms and elderly couples, trying to get to the back of the grocery store. Her cart already had the essentials; bread, peanut butter and jelly, hot cocoa mix. It was too crowded in the supermarket, the hum of dozens of separate conversations buzzing under the sound of seventies hits playing over the intercom. There it was, that ache again. She stopped briefly to pick out the notes, straining to hear the familiar lyrics. _When you wish upon a dream, life ain’t always what it seems._ There was something about the song that made her heart jump a little. The fluttering was unsettling. Frowning, she shook her head and pushed onward. She just needed to grab a couple bottles of wine and she’d head home, settle in to watch TV and snuggle with her electric blanket. 

She wasn’t looking when she rounded the corner of the last aisle, still peering behind her, apologizing to the last woman she’d nearly sideswiped. There was a man standing right in her path, glaring down at his scuffed boot, the one she’d just ran over with the front wheel of her cart. “Oh my God, I am so sorry,” the words tumbled out. 

He shrugged off her apology. ”I should be buying real food instead of this sugary bullshit, but… electricity might go out, and the kids love the stuff.” He grunted, fingers hooked through the handle of a gallon of milk, bending down to pick up the boxes of cereal she’d inadvertently knocked out of his grasp. Karen darted down to help, the shiny tiles cold against her knees. And then she looked at him, for the first time in their little exchange locking eyes. 

His were dark and familiar, set over a slightly crooked nose, probably broken years before. Suddenly she was transported back to a fitful night of unsettling dreams. Dreams filled with heart clenching sadness and… this face. She let him take a box from her hands, fingers suddenly going limp. “D-do I know you?” 

She blinked, his face wavering in and out of focus. Karen thought the maybe time had stopped, some weird glitch in the matrix, all the sound fading away in favor of an almost overwhelming white noise. 

The man’s expression faltered for just a second before everything rushed back to reality. “No, ma’am. I don’t believe we’ve met.” 

He moved away from her, muscular arms cradling frosted flakes against the front of his shirt, eyes a bit wary. She watched him walk away, the hollowness in her chest threatening to swallow her whole. She couldn’t breathe. 

Instinctively, she followed him, abandoning her cart of supplies and tailing him through the automatic doors. 

The snow was already falling, great white sheets of it whipping around in the foggy looking air. She caught her breath and ran after him, feeling sure that there was something she needed to say, something she needed to do. 

Needles of cold air rushed into her lungs, watery and thick in her throat as she rushed up behind him. Emboldened by an inexplicable desperation, Karen grabbed him by the elbow before he could open the trunk of his car. He spun around with a quickness that took her by surprise, dropping his bags to the ground and reaching under his coat. His familiar eyes now seemed deadly. 

The cap of the milk jug skittered away when it hit the ground, white liquid glugging out into the dark pavement in waves. She watched it spread quickly, rushing out in spurts like blood pouring from a severed jugular. The amount was unreal, pouring and pouring from the spout to pool at her feet. 

The man glared at her, slowly easing his empty hand back from under his coat. Karen released a sigh of relief, unsure of what she’d been expecting. “Are you sure we haven’t met?” 

His expression changed, yet again, eyes going soft and misty, looking at something far away, pain clearly arcing through him. “Karen?” 

Time stopped again. She was certain of it now. There was no sound, the cold air had ceased to make her skin burn, snowflakes suspended in midair. She was stuck, unable to breathe, unable to move away. It took an inordinate amount of effort to make her lips move, for her diaphragm to push the air up through her vocal chords. She persisted, forcing out his name. “F-frank?” 

It was as if his name broke the spell, swirling the air back around her, snow flying even more furiously. The sound rushed in her ears like a tornado, and all she could see was Frank lunging toward her, arms pulling her into a tight embrace. 

He held her close and whispered frantically in her ear. “Come back to me, this can’t happen again!” 

When she pulled back to look into his eyes, everything else was gone, the store behind them had disappeared, the hastily parked cars were gone, leaving nothing but a blanket of smooth virginal powder in all directions. It was just the two of them, outside in the middle a swirling blizzard, Karen’s legs threatening to buckle beneath her. Frank held her face in his cold hands, pleading with her. “Please Karen, I can’t take this anymore. You have to wake up.” 

He looked so desperate, barely contained hysteria in every line of his body as the wind whipped both of them. 

Everything came back in a rush, slamming into her like a Mack truck, knocking the breath out of her lungs. The blood, the anger, the acrid smell of gunsmoke. How had she forgotten? Even know, holding on to the memories took all of her energy, her muscles trembling like she was Atlas, struggling to hold up the weight of the world. And then there was the song again, playing it’s hauntingly cheerful melody seemingly on a loop, coming down from the silvery gray sky. 

_Shining star come into view, shine its watchful light on you._

What the hell was happening? She turned back to Frank. “I _am_ awake!” 

And suddenly, for the first time in a long time, she really was. 

* * *

_Karen had always enjoyed the smell of Chinese takeout, loved the way her tiny little apartment was infused with it days after ordering the indulgent food. As a child, Chinese takeout had meant a happy Thanksgiving dinner spent snuggled up with her carefree mother, watching_ It’s a Wonderful Life _playing on TV, her brother munching on fortune cookies and handing out the little slips of paper._

_She secretly loved the way Frank had settled into this routine with her, chowing down on low mein and orange chicken, their heads bent as they scoured recently found evidence. She was beginning to suspect it was something he loved as well. The frequency of their takeout dinners had increased exponentially over the past month. Or maybe he was just lonely, the holidays creeping up on the both of them. Either way, she was grateful for the company._

_Patting her full stomach, she smiled lazily at him across the litter covered coffee table. “So, what are you going to do with that?” She pointed at the flash drive lying between a pair of used chopsticks and her .308._

_Frank shrugged noncommittally, glancing up at her over a box of fried rice. “I’ve got a guy.”_

_Her eyebrows shot up. “A guy? Oh really, and why haven’t I heard of this ‘guy’? Seems like he would be fairly useful to an investigative reporter.”_

_Her tone was teasing. She knew full well that this was his way of telling her about one of his contacts, letting her into his world just a little bit at a time. He smiled back at her, setting the box down. “Micro’s a bit of a recluse, but he knows his way around all this technological shit.”_

_”Micro? Wow, with a name like that, he better.” Oh the wine had gone to her head, that was for sure._

_He snorted. “David Liberman. Micro’s a nickname, Page. He’ll get this thing cracked open for us.”_

_She felt a little blushy, and more than a little loose. This wasn’t a combination that had historically led to good decisions. She did her best to be serious. “You trust him?”_

_He nodded, cocking his head to the side to study her. It flustered her somewhat, unsure of how to fill the silence. Frank could stare a hole in the wall, could set kindling on fire with the intensity behind his eyes. Defensively, she picked up her wineglass, hiding behind its rim as she sipped the ruby liquid. She swallowed, conscious of the gulping sound that seemed to echo between them. “And you trust me?”_

_The question was soft, almost a whisper. She was half convinced she hadn’t even uttered the words floating around in her head until he nodded again, this time quietly coming round the table to take a seat beside her. He reached up to brush the hair away from her face. She swallowed again, too afraid to look away now that they were face to face._

_”I do.” His touch lingered. Her already flushed cheeks burning against his fingertips._

_Suddenly it was too warm in her apartment, too close, too small, heat chasing along her skin like electrical currents. She reached up to touch the calloused fingers gently resting against her cheek, thinking maybe Frank would ground her, that if she touched him back she wouldn’t burst into flames._

_Biting his bottom lip, he slowly lowered his hand, breaking the volatile contact. “I have to go, gotta catch Micro before he locks up for the night.”_

_Karen nearly whimpered at the loss of contact, biting her tongue. This was how it always went, the constant yo-yo of their relationship. Each time she thought they had a moment… he took a dozen steps in the opposite direction. She couldn’t argue with him, knowing how hard all of this must be. She got up and followed him to the door, hand catching his wrist before he slipped away. “Be safe, Frank.”_

_”No worries, Page.”_

_He disappeared down the hall, and Karen resolved for once to not worry. Frank had never let her down before._

_She went to bed that night warm from the alcohol swimming through her veins, happily content and full of chinese food. Thoughts of pulling Frank down into the tangle of sheets with her ran through her mind on a loop. Maybe next time…. maybe._

_Her phone’s familiar ringtone pulled her out of the morass of sleep, it’s tinkling an unexpected annoyance at 2 a.m. Her heart climbed into her throat, fear clutching at her, when she saw it was an unknown number. In a former life she wouldn’t have answered it, but this was a life with Frank, a man who changed burners every other week._

_She hit answer, a groggy “hello,” coming out hoarsely._

_The voice that replied was a man’s, Frantic with worry, words falling all over each other in an attempt to get her to listen. “He’s in danger, I fucked up. Shit! I knew it was too easy. It’s a trap, Miss Page.”_

_“What?”_

_“I got into the flash drive, and…” The man on the end of the other line sounded like he was having a panic attack. “Fuck, it was like they wanted him to go there.”_

_She sat up straight in the bed, swinging her legs over the side. She was getting dressed before she even knew what the plan was. “Give me the address.”_

_Minutes later, Karen page was hailing a cab, .308 tucked into a shoulder holster, determination the only thing hiding the fear she felt._

* * *

The beeping was driving Frank insane. It was like water torture, drip drip dripping on his head, rarely changing pace, always the same tone. Sure, it meant that she was alive, but it also meant that she was in a hospital, unconscious and lying in a god damned hospital bed. 

Resting his elbows on his knees, he hung his head, hating himself more with every passing second. Why the fuck had he gotten her so involved in this? 

”Frank, you need to get some rest.” 

There she was again, the kind nurse with the dark eyes and waves of empathy rolling off of her. She held out a glass of water, pushing it into his limp hand. His fingers closed around it, and he took a swig so she could see, so she would feel better. The woman was a caretaker, and he had no reason to fight against it. He grunted an answer at her, “Can’t.” 

Sleep on the best of days was a difficult proposition. Horrible nightmares stalking him through the dreamscapes. But now, Christ, now it was damn near impossible to close his eyes without seeing her crumpled body, blood blooming out across her silk blouse, her blonde hair stained with red where she’d hit it on the way down. 

Micro had fucked up, but it was all Frank’s fault. His fault for tossing his burner before giving Micro the new number, Frank’s fault for not being careful, Frank’s fault... 

His fist clenched against his knee, anger at himself bubbling to the surface. Karen’s skin was so pale against the hospital gown, her icy blonde hair pushed away from her face. She could almost be a porcelain doll were it not for the lack of color in her cheeks. How the hell could this be happening to him again? 

He’d stayed like this for days, drifting in and out of consciousness, dozing in the chair by her bed, head occasionally dropping down against the sheets beside the hand he rarely let go of. There were prayers just on the tip of his tongue, ones he’d thought long forgotten. _Wake up. Wake up. Wake up._

Claire’s presence was the only thing that kept him from crawling into the bed with Karen, from holding on tight so she couldn’t slip away from him. Still, he scooted his chair closer, glancing at the nurse from the corner of his eye. “Any news?” 

Claire shook her head, moving around the bed to adjust Karen’s pillow. “It’s still really early, Frank. You of all people should know how these things can be. Head injuries are tricky.” 

His throat constricted, not for the first time. He wanted to yell, stomp around and make an ass of himself. He was helpless here, anger clawing at him from the inside out. Why the fuck hadn't Micro just let him die alone on that rooftop. Calling Karen, trying to warn her, to send help… it had been a giant mistake. 

His self loathing was interrupted by a whimpering noise, her nearly colorless lips twitching in the dim light, eyes darting back and forth beneath the closed lids. He leaned closer, the breath caught in his chest, afraid that if he made a sound he’d miss something. He squeezed her fingers in his, forgetting for a moment that Claire was in the room. 

And then it happened, a tiny sound issued from her. His name. “F-Frank…” 

He completely lost it, jumping out of the chair and leaning over the bed. He caught her face between his hands, leaning down to touch her forehead with his. This time he prayed out loud, her name interspersed between the rote supplications to God, desperate pleas. “Please, Karen, come back to me. This can’t happen again. Wake up, honey, wake up.” 

His own eyes were squeezed shut, tears escaping and falling down onto Karen’s cheeks before he buried his face in the hollow of her neck, voice thick with emotion. He didn’t see her eyes slowly open, the wide open blue pools full of their own tears. But he felt her, felt the way her arms came up around his neck, felt her hot breath against his ear. 

“I’m awake.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally!!! Thank you to everyone who stuck with this story all the way to the end. Your kind encouragement means the world to me and I don't think I would have been able to get all the way through it without you. Of course there are things that I would like go to back and change a little, there are always are (and I might actually go back and do it this time??), but I'm just so happy to have completed it. Please feel free to leave any and all feedback (i am not kidding when i say i live off of it.)


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